


Handcuffed Or: The Day Mrs Hudson Had Enough

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Mrs. Hudson, Crack Treated Seriously, Handcuffs, M/M, Matchmaking, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Prompt Fic, Reconciliation, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-06 14:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20293204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: After Sherrinford, Sherlock is in a rotten mood, and he drives Mrs Hudson crazy. When Mycroft gets informed about his brother's condition and comes over, he and Sherlock find out what a very upset landlady is capable of.





	1. Chapter 1

“Didn’t you have a case, Sherlock?”

“Yes,” Sherlock mumbled darkly. “Solved it in five minutes. Bloody stupid cases.”

Mrs Hudson, standing in the doorframe of Sherlock's living room, sighed. “And what's that? Have you nicked police equipment again?”

Sherlock let the handcuffs whirl around his finger. “It's all they're good for.”

She watched him with a mixture of annoyance and concern. He was suffering, so much was sure. At first she had thought it was because of John of course. The doctor and his daughter wouldn’t move into 221B again. The flat was too small for three people, John had said. Which was true. He only had this small bedroom upstairs, no room to raise a little child. He would be there for cases if he had time, he had assured them. Well, he hardly ever had time. With his job in the clinic and Rosie and no wife, what else was to expect?

And Sherlock had been sulking ever since that ghastly day with his evil sister. He had been sleeping in Mrs Hudson's spare room – only that he hadn't slept but made noise all night until she had threatened to kill him with her heavy rolling pin. And when 221B had been built up again, he had shot the wall again within one day, making her yell at him so loudly that she had feared she would suffer an aneurysm.

It had not got better. John had hardly shown up and nobody else had either, except for clients, who had mostly run out of the flat in outrage soon after they had entered it with Sherlock shouting the solution for their cases after them like a curse.

Molly Hooper had come only once, the day after the boys had come back from Sherrinford – and had left crying. Mrs Hudson had heard the story of the forced 'I love you' and every heart-breaking detail about everything else that had happened in this horrible prison, and one should have thought Miss Hooper, who had told Sherlock to say these words first, would know he hadn't meant them, but then, one was never better at deceiving than when one was deceiving oneself, especially about matters of the heart.

She didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that Molly had come because she seriously believed Sherlock had miraculously started to love her. Of course he hadn't, and he had probably told her in very clear words. Which in the end meant he couldn't go to St. Bart's to make some ghastly experiments either as there was nobody who would provide him with body parts and –fluids anymore.

To her surprise, his brother hadn't shown up either. She knew what had happened with him, about him offering to die in his own unique way so Sherlock wouldn't have to shoot John (if they had only asked her – she would have figured out in no time that this plane up there didn't exist any more than the explosions in Molly's house which would have spared them this scene). He had also refused to shoot the unlucky governor so perhaps he didn't come because he thought Sherlock didn't respect him at all anymore for this weakness. Or he had just lost any interest in his brother, cold reptile that he was!

In any way Sherlock had been very lonely and his black mood certainly wasn't only because he was missing John, and Mrs Hudson had tried her best to cheer him up, but it had been a lost cause. Two nights ago she had heard some strange noises from above and had gone upstairs – to find Sherlock drunk and banging his head onto the table.

She had grabbed his shoulder and almost screamed at the large red bulge on his forehead. "What are you doing, boy?!"

"He doesn't love me," Sherlock had sobbed. "Never will."

"Who?" _John_, she had thought, of course.

"He thinks he's so smart and still he doesn't see I want him."

Not John, obviously. John _was_ smart without a doubt, he was a doctor after all, but he really didn't brag about his brain, at least certainly not towards Sherlock, who was a genius, even though one wouldn't have thought right now... "Who?" she had asked again.

But Sherlock hadn't answered, instead he had fallen head first onto the table and started to snore at once. The next morning he had been in the worst mood she had ever seen him in, his forehead a sight of its own, and he had been suffering from a strong hangover, very unsurprisingly.

"What did I tell you last night?" he had asked her when she had brought him coffee.

"That you are unhappily in love," she had answered.

"I didn't mention with whom?" he had wanted to know, fear in his eyes.

"No. Not John?"

Sherlock had snorted and then groaned and massaged his temples. "If it just was him," he had mumbled, and he had refused to say any more.

Of course she had mused about who it could be. The lovely DI? No. Sherlock didn't even remember his first name. Who else? A client? Someone she had never seen?

In the end she had stopped trying to figure it out. Sherlock would tell her if he wanted. She had told him he could come to her if he needed advice how to deal with the man of his heart, but he had only cast her a desperate look and had left the house.

*****

“He's looking horrible,” John mumbled when he had come down the stairs.

“Yes,” Mrs Hudson agreed. “And he's wrecking my last nerve.”

Sometimes he was running up and down the stairs for a full hour, preferably at midnight. He had come home high more than once and she had told him off thoroughly for it. He was a grown man and could do what he wanted, yes, but she wouldn’t watch him destroying himself any longer.

“We must do something!” she told the doctor now.

“I know. I'm sorry I can't be here more often but with work and Rosie… And when I was just with him, he just sat in his chair, sulking, and hardly said a word to me.” John straightened his back. “I'll have to inform Mycroft. It's the only way.”

Mrs Hudson shuddered. She could imagine this scene. But she knew John was right even though she wasn’t convinced he was mostly staying away only because of a lack of time. “Yes. Call him. Maybe he can talk some sense into him.” It was Friday afternoon. Perhaps Mycroft would be free to come over asap.

John grimaced. “As if that had ever helped… But they seemed to get along better before and in Sherrinford. In any way Mycroft has to know that he's in this condition. Let's hope having him confront Sherlock won't make it even worse…”

Mrs Hudson thought that this was hardly possible.

When Mycroft came over only an hour later, she realised that this had been very naïve.

*****

“Mycroft?” Sherlock swallowed, and then winced when his brother rolled his eyes.

“Who else?” He rudely set his umbrella against the wall. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Traitors… He was surrounded by traitors… Who had called his brother? John or Mrs Hudson? Perhaps even Lestrade! For a moment Sherlock even considered Mrs Hudson had figured out about whom he had been talking during his stupid drunken confession… But Mycroft's next words were a relief in this regard.

“John called me.” Mycroft had thunderclouds on his face. This wasn't the man Sherlock had seen in Sherrinford and during the nasty conversation with their parents anymore – meek and emotional and lovable. This was the Iceman, all smugness and arrogance. The worst incarnation of his brother. He still loved him though… Probably he was a born masochist. And he would strangle John the next time they met.

“Did he now. Well, you can see I'm doing fine so don't hesitate to return to your holy halls and forget me for the next couple of weeks or months or years until you need me for a case again!” Sherlock hissed.

Mycroft cringed and pursed his lips in displeasure a moment later. “I was busy!”

“Yeah, right. Had nothing to do with what happened in Sherrinford.”

Mycroft was fuming now. Sherlock wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming out of his ears. The politician/string-puller opened his mouth and shut it again, taking a deep breath. “You didn’t visit Eurus lately.”

“No,” Sherlock mumbled darkly. “Made no sense.” What good did it do to spend hours in this cold, horrible prison, playing the violin and watching his sister smile mildly and rather stupidly? “My siblings are all lost causes.”

“How dare you compare me with her!” Mycroft suddenly yelled, losing his composure so unexpectedly that Sherlock almost crawled into the depth of his chair at his brother's wrath. “Why did you go there in the first place?! You are as stupid as our parents!”

Sherlock gasped. “I wanted to be a good brother for her!”

“Oh really?! Why the hell did you bother? She wanted you to _kill_ me! And you're like, _'Oh, no problem, it was just **Mycroft**!'_”

“I did _not_ shoot you or did you forget?!” How could his brother even consider he would have done that? Hadn't he understood his game? Wasn’t he supposed to be the smart one? It had been the only way to bring them all out there alive. His brother couldn’t be so thick!

“Maybe you should have!” Mycroft yelled.

“Maybe I should!” Sherlock abruptly shut his mouth when he saw Mycroft's pained eyes before his brother got up his shields again. _Oh no…_

“I have enough!” Both men cringed when Mrs Hudson stormed into the room, a bucket in her hand. “I have enough of your noise and your unspeakable behaviour, Mr Detective! And you, Mr Holmes! I called you a reptile but you're much worse! You're a drama queen just like your sodding brother!” She looked around in the room furiously after dropping the obviously empty bucket.

Both brothers were silent now, staring at the furious old woman in horror.

“Ah!” she made while storming to a board. “Give me your hand!”

Sherlock shook his head. “What? What do you want with this? No, that…” _This can't be happening… I'm hallucinating! _But then - this was the woman who had forced him into her trunk to make him reconcile with John... She was capable of anything… 

“Now you! Come here!”

“But, Mrs Hudson…”

“Ha!” she said triumphantly. “Now listen to me: you will stay here, in this room, until you've sorted everything out! For years and years I've heard you bickering and this scene now was really the limit!”

“But, we'll have to eat…”

“Great, all you can think of is food!” Sherlock hissed at his suddenly pale brother.

“Be quiet!” Mrs Hudson screeched. “I'll bring you something to eat and water and if you have to pee, there's your loo!” She pointed at the bucket and Mycroft paled even more. She reached into the inner pocket of Mycroft's jacket and took out his phone before the tall man could even react.

Sherlock's smartphone was lying on the table and he tried to grab it but of course it didn’t work as he had forgotten that he was handcuffed. To. His. Brother.

His insane landlady took his lifeline, because that was what his phone was for him, with a triumphant snort and then she stalked out of the room.

“Please, Mrs Hudson,” Mycroft shouted after her. “Free us!”

“Forget it. You'll stay here until you've learned to get along with each other, and until Sherlock has finally grown up.”

“But then we'll _never_ get out of here!”

“Shut _up_, Mycroft!” yelled Sherlock, outraged.

The door closed with a bang and was locked from the outside immediately.

For a moment neither of them said a word.

“She can't do that, can she, Sherlock?” Mycroft then asked in a whiney voice. He was still bent in a weird way as Sherlock was still sitting in his chair. And he was basically chained to him…

“She just did,” Sherlock said darkly. “She is capable of everything. You think Eurus is dangerous? She could learn a thing or two from this woman…”

“What will we do now? Hey, there's a window! We could shout out there and…”

“Forget it, Mycroft. My reputation as a detective would be dead! I would be a figure of ridicule for every criminal in London if this ends up in the internet, and you can be sure it will. And we both know she'll keep watch. She'll just tell whoever comes to rescue us that this is just a strange experiment. Everybody would believe her…” The experiments he had done over the years had been stranger than being handcuffed to his brother. Not to mention that the flat had quite spectacularly exploded recently - not due to an experiment of course but thanks to Eurus, but the bottom line was, the sight of the Holmes brothers, waving their handcuffed arms, would not shock anybody anymore.

“But, what will we do then? God, don't you have the keys for these things?!”

Sherlock sighed. “No. I didn’t nick these damn handcuffs to get myself locked up, Mycroft. If I had known this, I would have got the sodding keys, believe me. Anyway… Let's get another chair so you can sit.” He got up and pulled at John's chair to shove it next to his one.

“And then?”

Sherlock had no idea. But he guessed they would have to, _gulp_, talk. Because this was what Mrs Hudson wanted. And he didn’t have any doubt she would let them rot in this room if they didn’t… what exactly? Reconcile? Become besties? Or… No… She still had no idea that she had just chained him to the man he desperately loved, did she? And even if she had figured it out, there was no way that Mycroft would ever want him. And she couldn’t want them to… what, get together?! Make out in handcuffs? Had he become mad as well now? Was insanity infectious? Was he doomed?

“Sherlock, what's wrong?”

“Nothing…”

“You're hyperventilating!”

Yes, he was. God, this was a nightmare… “I'm fine,” he rasped out nonetheless, trying to calm down. Panicking wouldn’t help either.

And then Mycroft whispered, “I… I have to… urinate…”

Sherlock groaned.

*****

“I'm… finished…”

Sherlock was, too… Having to listen to the sounds of Mycroft peeing into the bucket had been torture. Of course he had imagined how his brother was holding his cock and it had been so hard not to glance at it, this object of desire for as long as he could remember. He had of course also smelled his… piss… Oh God… Sherlock could see a lifelong stream of unwelcome fantasies… Stream! Freaking hell…

“I need to wash my hand…”

At least they could go into the kitchen. Sherlock led the way without a word and watched Mycroft awkwardly washing his right hand. The one that had touched his _cock_…

“Could you put some washing-up liquid on it, please?” Mycroft asked him shyly, and Sherlock almost emptied the entire bottle on his brother's trembling hand as he wasn't used to do something with his left hand and maybe because his hand was trembling, too…

Damn Mrs Hudson and damn John and damn sexy brother and damn everything!

“Thank you.” Mycroft managed to dry his hand off. “Anthea will come looking for me, you know. When I don't come back for the meeting with the PM, she will trace my phone. Even if Mrs Hudson has turned it off, she will know where I am.”

Sherlock wasn't so sure this would be of any help but he just nodded. What good would it do to tell his brother that he considered it very well possible that Mrs Hudson would indeed call Mycroft's PA to let her know what she'd done. He recalled several occasions on which Anthea had looked rather pissed off about him and Mycroft bickering in her presence. And he didn’t even want to know what she had thought about him when Mycroft had returned to Whitehall with a twisted arm thanks to him… All in all, he guessed Mycroft's trusted PA would rather fist-pump the air at the image of Mycroft and him bound together to sort out their difficulties than hurry to rescue him…

When Mycroft groaned next to him, he unwillingly grinned. Obviously big brother had come to the same devastating conclusion.

“Nobody will save us,” Mycroft almost sobbed.

Sherlock was reminded of Sherrinford, when Mycroft had been equally out of his depth. But this situation was not nearly as serious after all.

“Mycroft, she won't let us starve here or anything. She is merely teaching us a lesson.” And perhaps, just perhaps, he'd had it coming. He hadn't been exactly easy to deal with lately. Somewhere in his head a little voice laughed heartily at this understatement.

“But why me?! _You_ need one but not _me_!”

“Yes, right! She was pissed off about _both of us_ if you might recall! It's your fault as much as it is mine.” He remembered something Mrs Hudson had said. “And what did she mean – calling you a 'reptile'? When was that?”

Mycroft looked sheepish and sad when he answered. “When you were in hospital. The Smith case. You know, the one during which John kicked and hit you!” He didn’t sound sad anymore at the last sentence. He sounded royally upset.

“Ancient history,” Sherlock mumbled. Yes, he knew it hadn't been very nice of John but he had accepted it. He had deserved it. And John had apologised. Sort of… “So that means you came here to rummage through my belongings when I was trying to solve the most important case of my life? Again?”

Mycroft wasn’t even listening. “And why did I have to learn about your _best friend's_ outrageous behaviour from DI Lestrade? _You_ should have told me!”

“Right! Running to big brother to complain about having been beaten up. As if you'd have cared.”

Now Mycroft looked seriously hurt. “How can you say that? I've always cared. I told you I'd always be there for you.”

“Oh, that's great! You remember _when_ you said this? After the plane had been called back because of the Moriarty-videos. You know, the plane that was supposed to bring me to my death mission!”

“Oh, Sherlock. Did you really think I would have let you die there? Even if I hadn't had so much trust in your capabilities to find a way out – I would have come and got you. Like I did in Serbia.”

“Where you watched me being whipped,” Sherlock grumbled but he hardly knew what he was saying. Yes. He should have known better. Mycroft wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Mummy would be appalled…

“I told you your loss would break my heart,” Mycroft whispered.

“That doesn’t count! I had drugged you!”

“Yes, thank you for this by the way, and for stealing my laptop and kill someone for bloody John Watson and his bloody wife!” Mycroft hissed.

“Oh dear. I see you're getting along splendidly.”

Both Holmes brothers whirled around to Mrs Hudson, who was carrying a tray. Mycroft felt inclined to raise his left arm and the handcuff bored itself painfully into Sherlock's wrist.

“Watch out, Mycroft!” he hissed.

The old lady shook her head. “Here. Water, biscuits, sandwiches. That should do for a couple of hours. Oh, and greetings from your lovely PA, Mr Holmes. She said the Prime Minister had cancelled your meeting anyway and you're not needed in the office today again.”

“Treacherous harpy of a woman!” Mycroft snarled. “I'll fire her! I'll…”

“No, you will absolutely not. She's just reasonable and sees the advantages of this scenario.”

“She was laughing her arse off when you told her,” Sherlock dryly stated, and Mrs Hudson nodded.

“Quite so. Well, tomorrow is Saturday so you won't have to be in the office either, and of course on Sunday…”

“This is intolerable! This is deprivation of liberty! I'm going to sue you!” Mycroft threatened with all the coldness and conviction of an iceman completely outmanoeuvred.

“Yes, dear. So - you've got everything you need. Let me know when you want to go to bed. I'll lead you into Sherlock's bedroom then.”

_God, she does know it…_ Sherlock wondered why it had taken him so long to be sure about that… He couldn’t sleep in the same bed as his brother! Not only because it was too small for two people but… “Please don't do this to me, Mrs Hudson,” he whispered, casting her a pleading look.

She gave him a glance full of compassion before she patted his shoulder. “It's all up to you, Sherlock. I'll check on you later. And if you two are good boys, I might let you go. Enjoy your meal.” And with this she was gone.

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Let's get the food and the water and go back to the chairs. No need to stand around in the kitchen for the rest of the day.”

“The world has become mad,” Mycroft rasped out but Sherlock shrugged.

“It has always been mad.”

He and Mycroft were geniuses but they had been completely side-lined by an old lady, a goldfish, and Mycroft had just found out the hard way that his loyal PA was not quite that loyal. Or perhaps Anthea _was_… Perhaps attractive, clever Anthea did see the point in putting them into this situation? Mycroft did care about him. He had said it very clearly. Even though his mantra had always been, _'Caring is not an advantage'_. Perhaps…

Sherlock winced when Mycroft took the tray with the food, trying to use both hands. “You're scratching me up when you move your bloody hand like this!” he complained.

“Don't be a child, Sherlock! We have bigger problems than your delicate skin!” Mycroft flushed and turned his face away from him.

Sherlock was speechless for a moment before he hurried to follow his brother back to the living room. _'Delicate skin'…_ _'Your loss would break my heart…'_

Could it be possible? Did Mycroft… love him? As a man, not a brother?

He shook his head. Mycroft had been right. The world – and he – _had_ become mad…

But another small voice in his head (which sounded strangely like Anthea's) told him with a malicious giggle that if Mycroft really liked him in the same forbidden way, he would certainly find out today or tonight and for sure Mycroft would find out the truth about his feelings even if he didn’t return them as they were fucking _handcuffed_ to each other… No way to bring distance between them. Having to relieve themselves in the presence of the other one. Sleeping in his small bed if Mrs Hudson really showed no mercy and forced them to spend the night together (and God knew how much of the weekend). No escape. No secrets.

God, he was fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

“At least you haven't lost your appetite.”

“Be quiet and eat,” was Mycroft's predictable reply.

Sherlock thought he had probably never looked so ridiculous in his life. Sitting next to his brother, his right hand cuffed to Mycroft's left one, a tray in front of them, eating sandwiches and drinking water like the two prisoners they were.

“Perhaps your doctor will come?” Mycroft asked, not sounding overly hopeful.

_'Your doctor'…_ Mycroft didn’t still think he and John would get together, did he? He didn’t feel inclined to discuss his and John's relationship with his brother now though, no matter how tiring it was that everybody seemed to think they would end up as a couple. “Even if he does, Mrs Hudson won't let him in. And probably he will just have a blast watching us like this even if he comes.” He could practically hear his former flatmate laugh.

“I don't understand it, Sherlock.”

“What? That my landlady has turned into a prison guard better than this bloody governor?”

Mycroft winced. He didn’t seem to like to be reminded of the now decidedly dead governor. “No. Your forgiveness towards John and his wife. She almost kills you and you just shrug and say it's fine.”

Apparently his brother wasn't through with this subject. “It wasn’t quite like this. And I understood her.” Mary had had her reasons. She had been desperate and cornered and she hadn't seen another way out but to shoot at him. And she hadn't wanted to kill him even though she had actually done it. Just his concern for John had brought him back to life… Ancient history.

“Then John gets so violent against you, and again, it doesn’t bother you.”

Sherlock sighed. “It was Mary's plan and I followed it. And Mary did die because of me. You were there. It was a big mistake to provoke Norbury like this.” He had been so stupid that day. And Mary had paid the price. No wonder John had blamed him. He probably still did, no matter what he had said.

“Yes. It was a _mistake_. Even _you_ are allowed to make mistakes.”

“Since when?! I've never been good enough for you.” Sherlock closed his mouth with an audible noise. He really didn’t want to be so resentful towards Mycroft. It sort of just happened…

Mycroft looked hurt but he tried to not show it. “I was and I am merely concerned about your wellbeing,” he said stiffly. “Drugs are not good for you. Running into every danger isn't good for you either.”

“Yeah, I should start spending my days behind a desk in a windowless room with a painting of the sodding Queen on the wall like you, giving orders and feeling important.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” Mycroft burst out.

“_Hate_ you?!” Sherlock shot back. “Are you really so stupid that you…” He broke off, horrified at what he had almost given away. “I don't hate you,” he continued in a way calmer voice. “I just wish you would accept me as I am.” He was well aware how hypocritical this had sounded. He had just behaved as if he was very far from accepting _his brother_ as he was. And it wasn't even true… They both did what they could do best. In his case it was solving cases and chasing criminals, and Mycroft seemed to be very good at running the country behind closed doors. That didn’t make either of them better or worse. They were just different, no matter how similar they also were with their huge brains and their difficulties to deal with the goldfish. But he couldn’t say something like this to Mycroft, could he?

“I do. I just want you to be safe.” Mycroft's voice was rather small now.

“Well, then you must be very happy about this situation – I'm chained to you. How much safer can I get?” He was taken aback when Mycroft didn’t answer but just gave him a very sad look and went on grimly chewing his sandwich without another word.

*****

Mycroft could have eaten all of the sandwiches, each and every biscuit and probably even a rotting body part if Sherlock had something like this in the fridge. He had always felt the desperate need for a lot of food when he was stressed.

And he had hardly ever been as stressed as he was now.

On one hand _[ha!]_, he should be happy about his situation. Because Sherlock had not been wrong with the last few sentences he had said to him: he knew Sherlock would never be safer than with him. No threats, no danger. And he couldn’t deny that he was enjoying being close to his brother, even handcuffed to him, with just a few inches of a chain separating them.

But of course he knew Sherlock hated it. Yes, he had said he didn’t hate _him_ and yes, in Sherrinford Mycroft had thought his brother did feel some sort of affection for him. In the end Sherlock hadn't shot him. He had even smiled at him for two seconds. There had been a moment of closeness that had made Eurus, John and the entire fucked-up situation disappear for a few heavenly seconds.

But then, frozen on the spot in horror, he'd had to watch Sherlock pointing the godforsaken gun at himself and about thirty minutes later he had woken up in Eurus' cell in the presence of a police constable, learning that Sherlock was away, rescuing John. Of course… Then Lestrade had checked on him, not his brother. Of course… Sherlock had tried to interfere when their parents had been about to tear him to pieces the next day. But then he had started visiting Eurus, playing duets on the violin with the woman who had wanted to see him dead, no, not dead at any price but dying from Sherlock's hands.

Because she knew? Had she figured it out? How much Sherlock meant to him? He had no idea how but perhaps she had only realised it when she had seen them together. And had maliciously used that for her plan.

Thank God _Sherlock_ had not figured it out. For twenty years Mycroft had been hiding his true feelings for him and so he was very practiced at pretending nothing was out of the ordinary (if 'ordinary' even existed for people like them) but if his brother didn’t despise him, he would have seen it in his eyes during the last game in the prison, wouldn’t he?

The last bit of his sandwich kept stuck in his throat when he imagined he would have to spend the night with his brother, in a bed meant for one man, tied to him. This just couldn’t happen! He would never be able to hide his secret anymore if he was so close to him!

“Don't choke, brother,” Sherlock said, startling him. “I really don't want to be handcuffed to a corpse.”

Mycroft closed his eyes. This was the most horrible day of his life…

*****

“She did what?!” Greg put his glass onto the table after snorting into his beer.

John nodded. “Yeah. Called Sherlock to see how he's doing after meeting Mycroft… And then Mrs Hudson answers his phone and tells me she's cuffed them together.”

Greg chuckled and shook his head. But then he frowned. “Where did she get the handcuffs from?”

“Sherlock stole them. From you.” Amazing that Greg had never figured out where his warrant cards and other equipment had disappeared over the years.

“Bastard! Got what he deserved!” Greg took a sip from his beer. “They'll be okay, won't they?” he asked then, concerned.

“Course they'll be. Mrs Hudson will feed them and she'll always hear if they start to kill each other…”

Greg sighed. “Sherlock has never understood how much he means to his brother. You should have seen him, John. Whenever Sherlock had almost overdosed or was hurt, he was there, standing next to his hospital bed, looking down on him with so much pain in his eyes…”

Except for the last time… John bit his lip. He knew Greg had told Mycroft about his attack on Sherlock during the Smith case; Greg had informed him that he felt Mycroft should know it, assuming Sherlock wouldn’t mention it to him. And John guessed he could be very happy that Sherlock had been so forgiving towards him; otherwise Mycroft might have made sure he would never hurt his brother again… Perhaps he wouldn’t have harmed him himself. But he would have certainly stood next to him and watched with grim satisfaction…

He didn’t really know anymore why he had treated his friend so badly. Yes, Sherlock's careless words to this Norbury bitch had made her shoot at him. But he hadn't asked Mary to throw herself in front of the bullet. It had been her choice. And Sherlock had not even blamed him… He felt so bad about it.

Perhaps that's why he avoided him mostly now. He just couldn’t face the man who would always be his best friend, if this made sense or not. When he went to Baker Street, he went there reluctantly and Sherlock wouldn’t miss that. He was a lousy friend… And he had always been since Sherlock had come back from the dead. Sherlock and Mycroft certainly had a difficult relationship, but his one with Sherlock wasn’t much better now… So much history, too. “I should go there and free them,” he stated, sliding from the chair. He owed Sherlock at least this. The pub was rather crowded and annoying, and he should be at home, taking care of his daughter (who was with Molly right now), but before he collected her, he should go and make sure the Holmes brothers would not silently strangle each other…

“No, John,” Greg said to his surprise. “Maybe this situation is exactly what they need. They can't escape each other. It will force them to talk about a few things. What you told me about this night in Sherrinford… Sherlock does like him, too.”

“Yeah.” John sat back on his chair properly. He could stay for another few minutes. Rosie was in the best of hands after all and Molly had little enough opportunity to be around her goddaughter for a full evening. “Sherlock looked at him for a moment… smiling… as if he really liked him.” And then he had even threatened to shoot himself because he hadn't wanted to kill his brother like his sister had wanted. Yeah, safe to say Mycroft meant something to him, despite his archenemy-talk and brattish behaviour towards his older brother.

“Perhaps he likes him a lot… And that's why he's always been so nasty to him.” Greg gave him a raised eyebrow.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” But then… They were talking about the _Holmes brothers_. And it did make sense if Sherlock had been so nasty to his brother to hide that he liked him because Mycroft despised sentiment. No. Mycroft had told Sherlock he would always be there for him in the plane that day, being extremely sentimental to John's surprise. So that couldn’t be the reason. So why?

“I know for sure that Mycroft would do anything for him. Perhaps he is a tad overbearing but… He loves Sherlock,” Greg said and put a peanut into his mouth.

Yes. Love. That's what John had seen in Sherlock's face too, in Sherrinford. What kind of love? He gasped at this thought. Where had it even come from?

Greg gave him a knowing look. “Yeah. You know, when I checked on Mycroft that night, like Sherlock had asked me to do, I could see he was hurt that Sherlock hadn't come himself but that he hadn't really expected it anyway. He had long made his peace with never getting any affection from our detective.”

John nodded slowly. “And you think that now that they are locked away with each other, Sherlock has to show him that he likes him.”

“Likes him a lot maybe.”

“Damn…” Sherlock and… Mycroft? But it made sense in a very strange way…

“Yeah.” Greg emptied his glass. “Leave them alone for tonight. Call Mrs Hudson tomorrow morning. And they will probably need me to free the boys then…”

“Until then, they will have either killed each other or…”

Greg smirked. “I would bet on 'or'.”

John gulped. “What an image…”

“If that really happens, they can count on your support, can't they?” Greg scrutinised him.

“Buddy, I know I've been a horrible friend for Sherlock lately but that's past. I love this guy. Not like this… Anyway. He can always count on me.”

“Good.”

John tilted his head. “And you? Being the law, police, you name it? You'll turn a blind eye?”

Greg grinned. “These are the Holmeses, John. They are not from this world and I suppose the rules for us mortals don't apply to them. And dammit – if anyone could make them happy, I'd be happy, too. And something tells me it could only be the other one.”

This sounded weirdly true. Who would even be able to keep up with either of these super smart, super smug men with more quirks than normal people had brain cells? And dammit – they would certainly make for a very attractive couple… “Fuck… I need another beer.”

Greg chuckled and got up to fetch them.

*****

“I don't know what to do… It's all quiet now.”

_“You have to make them spend the night together. You say Sherlock's bed is pretty small?”_

Mrs Hudson nodded as if Mycroft's PA could see her. “Yes. He hardly ever sleeps so he doesn’t care. And of course he has never brought anyone home.” Apart from this woman some years ago but they hadn't slept in the bed together. It had only been a ruse after all.

_“I know Mycroft loves him. You should have seen him when he came back into the office after Sherlock had pushed him against the wall. Poor sir…”_

“It could be just brotherly affection.” It was hard to believe Mycroft Holmes was even capable of loving someone in a romantic way, and Sherlock above all!

_“No. Sometimes he scribbles his name on a piece of paper like a schoolgirl with a crush. He always lets it disappear when I come closer but I saw them in the bin… He is totally crazy for him. Has been for a long, long time I'm sure. He was so jealous when Doctor Watson showed up. I had to kidnap him! Believe me, Mrs Hudson – his feelings are not brotherly.”_

And neither were Sherlock's. It had taken her long enough but when she had seen Sherlock's face when she had threatened them with forcing them to spend the night together, she had understood about whom he had been talking when he was drunk. Poor Sherlock! In love with his big brother and not getting that his brother loved him the same way!

“I told them I might let them go if they behave…” Why had she said this? And how anyway? She didn’t have the key to the handcuffs. She could try it with a knitting needle but that would look a tad clumsy… And she might hurt the boys with her jab saw so this wasn't an option either.

Anthea chuckled. _“Ah, that's no problem. You can eavesdrop and when they get loud, and I bet they will, barge in. Or just make something up. They just have to have this night. I bet it'll work wonders.”_

Mrs Hudson hoped the young woman was right. Of course they could talk to the brothers and tell them about the other one's feelings but that didn’t seem right. They had to figure that out themselves. And what better opportunity for this than sharing a small bed?

“I'll make sure they'll end up in Sherlock's bed.” True, they were brothers. True, Mycroft was hard to bear. So was Sherlock though… If they didn’t get together, they would both spend their lives alone and miserable. They were in love with each other, and that surely counted more than some law that didn’t make sense regarding them. And sex would certainly even brighten up the mood of the reptile man!

_“Great. If you need any help, just call again!”_

They said goodbye and Mrs Hudson silently walked upstairs. She liked Mycroft's PA. A woman after her own heart!

*****

“It doesn’t make sense to postpone it any longer, Mycroft. I can't just sit anymore… Let's tell her we want to go to bed.”

“I can't sleep in your bed!” Mycroft yelled, suddenly looking as if he was close to a nervous breakdown.

Sherlock couldn’t blame him. They had been sitting for another two hours, hardly talking as every subject was touchy between them. They had tried a few – speaking about their jobs had led to arguing at once as Mycroft had brought up John again. Everything being Sherlock's fault – the same. Mycroft had eventually talked about Sherlock's and Eurus' childhood, but thinking of their sister made Sherlock kind of sick. He claimed to love Mycroft and still he hadn't wasted a thought on how his brother had to be feeling about him trying to bond with her… Or perhaps he had unconsciously visited her to force a reaction out of Mycroft? Which kind of reaction? A love confession? Probably he was madder than Eurus…

So they had fallen silent again. And Sherlock was tired. They couldn’t spend the night sitting in these chairs. Yes, his bed was too small and the thought of sharing it with his brother made him feel very nervous but if they managed to fall asleep, they didn’t have to talk anymore or sit in an uncomfortable silence. And tomorrow they could tell Mrs Hudson they were the best of friends now. Perhaps she would even believe them…

“Let's go to the door so we can shout through it.”

“I'm not staying here.” Mycroft sounding like a sulking child now, his gaze was unsteady.

“Come.” Sherlock got up and pulled at Mycroft's arm.

Mycroft struggled but Sherlock was stronger. The handcuff was hurting his wrist but it had to hurt Mycroft's even more and eventually Mycroft got up and stumbled to the door with him.

Before Sherlock could do anything, Mycroft hammered against it with his free hand. “Let us out, Mrs Hudson! I swear I'll make your life so miserable if…”

He almost fell over when the door opened abruptly. Obviously Mrs Hudson had already been standing in front of it.

“I see nothing has changed,” she said with a sigh that sounded rather pleased than exasperated. Somehow this didn’t surprise Sherlock at all. “Let's go to your bedroom then.”

“No! I'm not staying here! You can't force me!” Then Mycroft paled, and so did Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson had raised her left hand, showing a huge knife. “Oh can't I?” For a moment she smiled in a way Sherlock would have indeed rather expected from Eurus or perhaps from this girl in _'The Exorcist'_. God, women were scary…

Mycroft swallowed and just whispered, “Please…”

“Go. Now. And I'll be nice – you can use the bathroom before I'll lock you in for the night.”

Mycroft gave her a pleading look. “Will you remove the handcuffs so…”

“No. Don't be silly. Do you think I have the key? I'll get that nice inspector to take care of them when you've finally learned to behave.”

Lestrade would have a field day… Sherlock shared a look with her when Mycroft had turned away with hanging shoulders after a long groan as he had obviously not considered this little fact, and she winked at him.

Oh God… She would really do this. She thought it would bring them together… Not in this life… Or… She had spoken with Anthea obviously, perhaps more than once. Perhaps Anthea knew something Sherlock didn’t. And damn… He couldn’t rule out the possibility that Mycroft loved him the same way, too. And he would never get such a chance again…

“Let's go, Mycroft,” he said. “It's just for one night.”

“That's a good boy,” Mrs Hudson crooned and patted his back, and somehow Sherlock had the strong feeling that this night was going to change his life.


	3. Chapter 3

“I can't even take off my shirt!” Mycroft rattled with the handcuffs like a grumpy ghost.

Sherlock sighed. His brother sounded as if this was the end of the world. “It'll get some crinkles for sure…”

“This is not funny!” Mycroft seemed to be bordering on hysteria now.

“Look, just take off your trousers and I can help you open your shirt…” He gulped at the thought. He knew his brother was a hirsute man. To be allowed to touch this furry chest…

“I'm not taking off my trousers!” Mycroft yelled, aghast and completely illogically.

“Yes you will. We can't sleep in them; it will be uncomfortable enough to share this small bed.”

“But…”

“And now stop complaining! It can't be worse than washing ourselves with these damn handcuffs.” Or brushing his teeth with the left hand… And they had both peed, one after the other. And Mrs Hudson had watched to make sure they didn’t try anything stupid with Sherlock's razor as she had said. It wasn't really surprising that Mycroft was so done now…

“It's all your fault! If you hadn't stolen them in the first place…”

“…Mrs Hudson would have probably cut us in pieces with her butcher knife… Listen… I know this is inconvenient, embarrassing and crazy. I know you want to be at home now and you'd rather kiss the feet of the Queen than sleeping next to me. But it is what it is.” Damn… He hated this sentence. But it had never been truer after all.

And was Mycroft so hysterical because he loathed being so close to him? Or because he was afraid of what he could give away?

His brother didn’t show any signs of desiring him but he'd had a lot of practice to hide this after all if Sherlock was right. And they didn’t call him the Iceman for no reason. Of course he wasn't, not towards Sherlock, but he had a lifelong training in keeping his shields in place. He had sucked at it in Sherrinford, and he had certainly not done a great job today. But now that it really counted, he suddenly seemed to have himself under control again, at least on the outside. Sherlock was well aware though that this layer of ice was very thin now. One wrong move and it would crack…

His own heart was hammering but he tried to appear as calm as possible, too. No need to make Mycroft freak out just now. He would do that anyway if Sherlock was wrong about his brother's feelings and Sherlock made a move on him.

Would he even? Could he be so brave? This was his brother… The British Government… And he expected him to practice incest with him? Even if Mycroft did desire him, who said he would ever want to act on these forbidden feelings?

He gulped when he saw Mycroft fumble with his trouser button. “Let me help you.”

“No. Don't touch me.” Mycroft sounded desperate but Sherlock's heart made a jump. His voice might have said this but his eyes said, _'Please touch me'_.

He reached out and deftly opened Mycroft's trousers.

*****

“You're comfortable?”

“You're kidding, right?”

“You know what I mean…”

“Yes,” Mycroft mumbled. “I'm as comfortable as possible. You?”

“I'm fine.”

They were lying on Sherlock's bed. Somehow they had sorted out their limbs and managed to pull the blanket over both of them.

Sherlock had just asked him if he was comfortable. And before he had helped him undress. Sherlock had touched his trousers. And he hadn't shown any hint of disgust.

_Because he doesn’t know about your sick desires, idiot boy! _Mycroft winced. Great… His inner voice sounded like Mummy… Using the 'endearment' she had thrown at his head when he had told the older Holmeses about Eurus.

She was right of course. If Sherlock knew what he felt for him, how badly he wanted to kiss him and touch him and do all the wrong things with him, he would say the meanest words to him, and Mycroft would have deserved them all. It was wrong to love his baby brother like this. Why could he not finally forget about these sick desires and find someone else or forget that he was a sexual being completely? It wasn’t as if he'd had sex with anyone in the past at least ten years… Oh, when he had discovered his misguided feelings for his barely adult younger brother, he had tried to erase them by getting close to other men. It had never worked. He hadn't liked them and they hadn't liked him.

_What's the big deal? Sherlock doesn’t like you either!_

Mycroft almost groaned at the malice of his inner voice. Especially because it was right… At least he had fought back the arousal that had threatened to raise its head (quite literally) by imagining Mrs Hudson standing in the door with the large knife when Sherlock had fumbled with his trousers. Who knew if she wasn't really standing in front of the door now, listening to them?

“Shall I switch off the light now?” Sherlock asked, sounding almost shy.

“Yes, please,” Mycroft mumbled. Not that it mattered. Of course it meant he wouldn’t be able to see Sherlock's alluring neck and collarbones any longer; both of them had opened their shirts as it was rather warm in the bedroom. It was windy and rainy outside so they couldn’t leave the window open.

But of course he wouldn’t sleep a minute in this night, if he was confronted with Sherlock's beauty or not. How could anyone sleep if the object of their desire was so close to them suddenly, so much closer than he had ever expected?

He almost shrieked when he felt a head nuzzling against his neck. “What…”

“The bed is too small to lie next to each other,” Sherlock whispered. “Can I put my arm over your chest?”

“Um… That… No… Yes… But…”

“Thank you.”

Sherlock was more or less draped over him now. He could smell him. Feel his warmth. It was torture. He had to say something, anything. “Why did you behave so strangely the past weeks?” he settled for. It was a question he should have asked earlier, he just realised.

Sherlock was quiet for a long moment. “I was missing something. Someone.”

“Oh, I see.” John of course. John who had decided to not move back into 221B again. Well, the flat was too small for three people after all.

“I missed the man who was so brave and decent in Sherrinford.”

The doctor really had been, hadn't he? _'I won't allow this'_ he had said when Sherlock had pretended to be willing to shoot him, Mycroft. Mycroft hadn't expected this. John had never appeared to be overly fond of him, well, and vice versa. Still Mycroft had offered to die so John could live. Mostly because of Sherlock, of course, who shouldn't lose another friend to Eurus' nasty games. But the doctor had a little child that depended on him; a child that had already lost its mother, if it could be blamed on Sherlock or not. John was very important. Not just for Rosamund. Also for Sherlock…

“He didn’t kill someone because he knew he couldn't live with the guilt,” Sherlock continued, and his hot breath ghosted over Mycroft's skin with every word. It felt horribly good.

True. Mycroft had been surprised the doctor hadn't shot the governor either. Perhaps he had forsaken every form of violence now. He'd better be. Mycroft wouldn’t tolerate another outburst of it against Sherlock… “Yes,” he finally broke his silence. “John does have his decent sides.” Would they finally get together then? If the doctor lived with Sherlock or not?

“I'm not talking about John, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, and while Mycroft was still struggling with accepting the truth, he noticed that Sherlock hadn't sounded impatient or annoyed. He had sounded scared…

“You… What?”

“You, Mycroft. I missed _you_.” Mycroft was speechless so Sherlock went on talking eventually. “You never showed up anymore. I have no idea if you did it because you thought I didn’t want to see you or because you assumed I would think badly of you.”

“You never wanted to see me,” Mycroft finally croaked. “And nobody could think worse of me than you do…”

“This couldn’t be further from the truth.” Sherlock let his hand move over Mycroft's chest, which was only covered by a vest now.

Had he fallen asleep already? Was he dreaming? Because Sherlock couldn’t be about to tell him that he had seriously missed him? Had wanted to be with him? “I don't understand,” he said when he had discreetly pinched his own thigh to make sure that he was in fact not asleep.

“I know. Let me tell you a story. A fairy tale.”

“Right,” Mycroft mumbled. This conversation – not even mentioning the entire situation – couldn’t get any more absurd anyway.

“There was a little boy. He was cute and handsome and very smart… You get the picture.”

Mycroft caught himself smiling. Oh yes. He recalled little Sherlock, all black curls and these incredible eyes and never-ending questions. “Sounds like he was a very appealing child.”

He heard the smile in Sherlock's voice when he went on speaking. “I’ll leave this to your judgement. Anyway. He was a happy child until a few things happened that the man he has become does recall now, but he chose to forget them back then.”

Mycroft nodded. Victor and Eurus. Sherlock had erased every conscious memory of them, and Mycroft might have supported this choice, but in the go Sherlock had become less emotional, less happy.

“Afterwards, the boy wasn't the same anymore. But one thing was still the same – he adored his big brother.”

Mycroft swallowed. He saw himself back then – a clumsy, chubby teenager, drawn into the containment of his sister by his uncle, horrified and insecure but sure about one thing: all that mattered was his little brother's safety. “I'm very sure this was mutual,” he said quietly.

“Oh yes. The boy had never any doubt about it. But then something happened. Probably just life. The older brother left home to go to a boarding school. He was so smart that he went to university much sooner than any of his peers. He finished uni with the best possible grades and was recruited by the government at once and he never looked back.”

“But he did! He cared so much about his younger sibling!” Mycroft was aghast. How could Sherlock think he had forgotten about him? Sherlock had been on his mind in almost every wake minute. He had thought about him, worried about him. But Sherlock hadn't wanted to have anything to do with him anymore eventually. He had refused to come to the phone when Mycroft had called. He hadn't answered his letters. Mycroft had thought Sherlock hated him… How could anyone be so stupid?!

Sherlock patted his chest soothingly. “The boy knows that now. But back then… It felt like a betrayal. The boy did some silly things now that he was all alone. Well, he still had his parents but they never understood him. His brother did come home for two weeks in summer and for Christmas, but they grew apart more and more. The boy thought his brother was looking down on him and he felt hopelessly inadequate compared to him and all he had reached… and he felt lost.”

“I'm so sorry, Sherlock,” Mycroft brought out, his eyes having filled with tears at these last devastating sentences.

“Shh. The boy started to behave in a very nasty way towards his brother to hide how hurt he was to have been left behind. And then also because he discovered that he was having strange thoughts about the older boy, who had become a young man, far from chubby now, and very attractive, and we won't even mention his intelligence and charisma.”

Mycroft's heart started to race. This couldn’t be true. Sherlock couldn’t have fallen in love with him back then. He wouldn’t have missed this!

“The boy did not only suffer because of his brother. His brain was torturing him, too. His brother had shown him how to deal with it, had helped him build a mind palace to structure his thoughts and he could have done so much with his brilliant mind, but instead he started to search for chemical comfort to numb his never-silent brain and to escape these feelings he knew his brother would despise him for.”

Mycroft was close to screaming now. What a complete and utter idiot had he been? _He_ had basically been the reason for Sherlock's preference for drugs? He had thought Sherlock hated him but in fact Sherlock had _loved_ him? And he groaned when he recalled how he, unhappy in love with him and struggling with his feelings immensely, had told Sherlock again and again that caring was not an advantage…

Sherlock raised his head. “It's all right, Mycroft. I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad. I'm telling you because now you are tied to me and can't escape, and I know I'll never get this chance again, and under different circumstances, I would have never dared finally tell you what I really feel for you. But I got the impression today that you might feel the same way. Perhaps I was wrong and now you think I'm crazy and depraved and…”

And Mycroft shut him up with a kiss. He hadn't planned it and it was clumsy and wet and probably disgusting, but Sherlock froze only for a moment, gasping, before he eagerly kissed him back.

*****

“They are in Sherlock's bedroom now,” John chuckled when he had ended the connection. “And she said she hadn't heard a loud voice anymore, just some murmuring conversation.”

Greg grinned. “How far will they go – what do you think?”

“We're not betting on it, are we? We can hardly ask them if they had sex.”

“Yeah, shame. Bet if they do it, they'll make sure to be quiet… But tomorrow morning when we go there, we'll see…”

“Definitely. Another beer?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

*****

Anthea ruffled up her freshly washed and dried hair. Then she grinned at her mirror image. Sir and baby brother were in bed together now, still in handcuffs. If she just had thought about such a possibility years ago! It would have saved sir so much pain… Mrs Hudson was such a gem. She would invite her for dinner in a couple of days. What a woman! She could still learn so much from her!

*****

He was kissing Mycroft. Kissing! Mycroft! Sherlock pinched his earlobe to make sure this wasn't a great dream. It wasn’t. He could taste his brother, lick into his mouth, let his tongue play with his one… What had started as a clumsy first attempt had already become skilled and wonderful. He could go on kissing him forever…

The handcuffs were nasty though. It was impossible to touch and caress each other like they wanted to. And there was no doubt that Mycroft truly desired him, too.

He could despair about those lost and wasted decades. But in the end it would be pointless. They had gone through so much suffering and difficulties but perhaps this would make it easier now to jump into a relationship of a highly forbidden and yet so exciting nature. Mycroft had struggled with his guilt for wanting him long enough. Sherlock had doubted that Mycroft could ever consider him his equal long enough. They had both gone through hell and back in so many ways. Perhaps they had needed this all to be able to just dive into it and enjoy it, and Sherlock was very determined to enjoy it thoroughly, and not even the bloody handcuffs (and he knew without them this would have never happened in the first place so yeah, thanks Mrs Hudson) would keep him from claiming his brother.

He freed himself out of Mycroft's one-armed embrace to glide down on his body, seeing his brother gasp at the realisation but there was no doubt that he longed for Sherlock to take care of what had been poking against Sherlock's groin so persistently during their kissing.

*****

“Sherlock…”

His brother, who had just worked his already plump cock out of his pants, looked up to him. “Don't tell me to stop. We've really waited long enough.”

“Yes but… What if Mrs Hudson comes in to check on us?” Sherlock chuckled and Mycroft groaned. “You think she knows it? She even planned this?”

“Probably not in the beginning but yeah, I'm convinced she wouldn’t exactly mind…”

It was very hard to wrap his mind around this. But that surely didn’t mean…

“I bet Anthea knows it, too…” Sherlock said in a rather malicious tone.

“Dear Lord… But certainly John and Greg Lestrade…?”

“Not sure about them. But it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Great… They were about to start a completely forbidden sexual relationship and basically everybody who knew them well was aware of it?!

“Mycroft… Stop fretting your pretty head. If they know it, they'll obviously all support us.”

“Amazing,” he breathed.

Sherlock grinned. “As amazing as your huge cock.” And with this he bent over it and took the engorged head into his mouth and Mycroft had to bite into his own hand to not scream his pleasure to the ceiling.

*****

“Sherlock is sucking your boss now I think. These wet slurping noises… And I heard Mycroft moan; he tries to be quiet but it's a lost cause.”

Anthea laughed on the other end of the line. _“This is so great! I bow to you, Mrs Hudson.”_

“Ah, just helped them along a bit.”

_“What would they be without us people who care about them?”_

“Very sad men.” Mrs Hudson allowed herself a smug little smile. They were not sad now, so much was sure.

*****

“Have you heard anything from Sherlock?” Molly asked while she handed Rosie over to him.

John tried not to grin. “He's been struggling a bit. But I'm sure he'll be better soon.” In fact he was certain Sherlock was in a splendid mood right now.

“You don't think there's a chance…” Molly didn’t finish her sentence but she didn’t have to.

“No,” John said full of conviction, thinking of the conversation he'd just had with Mrs Hudson. “None at all. Sorry.”

She nodded sadly. “If you see him, would you tell him if he needs something for his experiments, he can always drop by?”

“Yes, Molly. I'll do that.” He did doubt though that Sherlock would indulge in examining rotten feet or noses so soon again. He would be too busy exploring a long-limbed and probably well-hung male body… “Good night. Thanks for taking care of her.” Rosie was sound asleep in his arms.

“Anytime, John.”

She would be such a good mother. It was a shame. But then he had an idea. “There's a new sergeant in Greg's team. Very attractive man and seems pretty decent. You should drop by and have a look at him eventually.” He had met him only once during one of the rare cases he had solved together with Sherlock. He would do that more often again from now on for sure.

Her face said she didn’t want anyone but Sherlock, but then she nodded. “Why not. It's worth a try.”

Everything good was worth a try, John thought when he imagined Sherlock the Virgin and Mycroft the Iceman in bed together now. Amazing day…

Then he made his way back home with his daughter on his arms. Tomorrow morning he would bring her to a babysitter and meet Greg before heading over to Baker Street. He chuckled at the thought.

*****

It was wet and messy and horrible and tasted wild and musky and weird and Sherlock loved every minute of it. He had quickly found out that he obviously was a born cock sucker. He had worked on his gag reflex ages ago during some particularly interesting experiments with cucumbers so he was able to swallow down Mycroft's large cock without any unattractive gagging. And to his surprise he even enjoyed producing some very indecent noises that probably reminded of certain farm animals, but not even Mycroft seemed to mind. His brother, on the receiving end of his amazing efforts, either had his eyes tightly closed or was gaping at him, stammering incoherent words, mostly weird versions of Sherlock's name and curses Mummy should better not hear.

Sherlock would have done this to the end, in fact he gagged for having his brother coming down his throat. But he would postpone this. He wanted more now.

“Where are you going?” Mycroft protested when he scrambled to the edge of the bed.

He could just reach the bed stand without his brother having to move. “I need lube.”

“Sherlock, no. Not in the first night!”

“Oh yes. You have any idea how often I fantasised about this? Having your massive boner up my arse?” He managed to get the bottle out of the top drawer. He was still not absolutely sure his brother wouldn’t change his mind as soon as they had been freed from each other. He would have this night, this sex and he would store every second in his mind palace so it could never be taken away from him.

Mycroft gasped at his choice of words but then he shook his head again. “It would be too difficult to prepare you and… What are you doing?!”

Sherlock had opened the bottle with his teeth and was coating Mycroft's cock with the sticky fluid. “I could show you some of my toys. Then you'd know how little preparation I need. Your cock is stunning and large, don't get me wrong. But I had even bigger things up there…” With this he awkwardly placed his arse over his brother's lap and sank down on him, almost falling over when he missed his cock at the first try. Finally Mycroft helped him with his free hand and a moment later they both groaned when Sherlock's tight canal welcomed his brother's wet, hard cock.

*****

This was bliss. It was scandalous and immoral and law-breaking and highly arousing and wonderful and little brother was so _nice_ to him…

He was well aware that if Mrs Hudson was still in this flat, she would have had to be deaf to not hear the rattling of the handcuffs, the creaking of the bed and their combined moaning, but somehow he didn’t care; Sherlock had convinced him that his insane landlady even wanted this to happen. Sod this stupid law and feeling guilty and it-would-kill-Mummy-if-she-knew… It was awesome and exciting and Sherlock was riding him like a pro and looked as if he was in heaven and what else should matter?

The fingers of their tied hands were entwined, his other hand was on Sherlock's hip and they were kissing in a strange angle every few seconds and his cock felt as if it was close to exploding and damn, he was so close already and Sherlock's hard cock was poking into his stomach when he bent forward to nibble at his brother's swan-like neck and he was buried in him so deep now and his balls were so heavy and full and…

… and then Sherlock growled and hots spurts of come landed on Mycroft's stomach and chest and one even hit his chin, and his brother's strong anal muscles were cramping around his cock and Mycroft yowled when his orgasm was rudely ripped out of him and he painted his brother's insides with some strong eruptions of semen, something that his fancy toys were certainly not capable of…

Sherlock collapsed onto him, panting and chuckling, Mycroft's cock still in his arse, and Mycroft wondered if they would wake up glued to one another. Well, if Mrs Hudson found them like this, it was entirely her fault.

“I've got some wet wipes,” Sherlock said and he had to admit he was relieved.

They cleaned one another and the sheets up as well as they could and put their pants back on before snuggling against each other under the blanket.

“This was great.”

Mycroft tousled his brother's sweaty black curls. “But it hurt, didn’t it?”

“No. Just stings a bit. I like that. Will you let me do it to you, too?”

“Of course.” Mycroft had never got fucked before but if Sherlock asked him to do it? Of course he would. He would like to get some preparation beforehand but he would definitely do it.

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered and kissed his cheek.

“What for?” He was rather sure Sherlock was not talking about him agreeing to be on bottom.

“For not saying it may never happen again.”

“Sherlock, I might be very slow and I was remarkably oblivious for a painfully long time but I'm not a coward. If you want to be with me, and I definitely want it too, why should I back out? We've crossed every line tonight and I'll love to do it again and again if you'll have me.”

“You're the best big brother in the world,” Sherlock mumbled against his neck and Mycroft smiled.

This was certainly better than archenemy, Iceman or fat British Government, wasn't it?

Sherlock lying all over his chest again, they drifted off to sleep, and they both had a smile on their faces.

** The Next Morning **

“Good morning!”

Both Holmes brothers shot up but then Sherlock just grinned. “Good morning, Mrs Hudson.”

“Good morning,” Mycroft mumbled.

His brother looked adorable with tousled hair and sleepy eyes, Sherlock thought. He could definitely get used to the sight… And he would… “Thank you!” he said to his landlady, and he meant it from the bottom of his heart.

She beamed at him. “So you were good boys?”

“Um…”

Mycroft groaned next to him but Mrs Hudson giggled. “So you were bad boys, but that's good. Lucky for you, I've brought your friends and one of them has a key to your handcuffs.”

“Thank God,” Mycroft mumbled and for a moment Sherlock thought his brother had woken up with a changed mind. But then his brother looked at him with eyes full of love. “It means I can finally embrace you properly.”

Sherlock smiled so widely at him that he briefly thought his face would get split in two. But then they heard two male voices and a moment later John and Lestrade came into his bedroom, which was definitely overcrowded now.

“Where are the prisoners that have to be released?” Greg waved with the key.

“Do you even _want_ to be released?” John chuckled.

“Yes!” Sherlock said. “I want to punch you for not showing up for weeks.”

John gave him a sheepish smile while Greg took care of the handcuffs. “I know. I'm sorry. Sorry for a lot. We'll talk about it…”

Sherlock was happy. He was extremely happy about getting together with Mycroft of course but getting John, a supportive, loyal John, back into his life meant a lot to him, too. “You're here now,” he said, and John read between the lines.

“I am. And so is Greg. Well done, boys. Finally I don't have to listen to you bickering anymore…”

“Kindly shut up, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said to him – and then he poked his tongue out at him, and everybody laughed.

“You won't punish your lovely assistant, will you?” Mrs Hudson asked Mycroft while handing him his phone.

“No,” Mycroft smirked. “But I'll give her a rise. And you might expect a gift basket.”

“Mr Holmes!” Mrs Hudson cooed and Sherlock smiled before he cleared his throat. “You know, we're very grateful for all your support for our slightly unusual relationship…”

“Hear, hear,” Greg mumbled.

“But this is also a tad embarrassing and we'd like to have some privacy when we go to the bathroom and get dressed.” And who knew, maybe Mycroft would be up to some bad-boy-stuff under the shower? He wouldn’t want to have an audience then…

“You shall have it,” said Greg while the other two smirked and nodded. He stored the handcuffs and then he bent over to Sherlock and whispered, “If you ever nick police equipment again, I'll ask your brother to put you over his knee.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Listen to the inspector, little brother. He wants you to be a good boy.”

Sherlock shot him a brief glance and snorted. “My brother is a softie, you know. He wouldn't thrash me if his life depended on it. And he's old, too; his knees aren't so good anymore.”

“Brat!” Mycroft accused, his eyes twinkling.

“Don't be boring, Mycroft,” Sherlock shot back.

They stared at each other before they and everybody else burst out laughing.

Sherlock was ridiculously happy and he could see the same sentiment in his brother's eyes. And when the others had left them alone, their mouths met for the first – but certainly not last – kiss of this day. Sherlock had the best friends anyone could wish for and he had the sexiest, smartest and most caring not-quite-iceman at his side now. He was the luckiest man in the world.

̴The End ̴


End file.
